


live while we're dead

by anona



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Graphic Accounts of Suicide, M/M, but everybody is dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 11:44:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anona/pseuds/anona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a wristcutters!au, where the afterlife for those who have committed suicide is just a little bit worse than the world they left, and louis just wants to find his sister because who the fuck is harry styles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	live while we're dead

**Author's Note:**

> this was britpicked by me, and i'm canadian, so please forgive any glaring errors. endless thanks to my betas, hannah (iamspaghetti on ao3), ashley (whose url i lost when i deleted my original tumblr i'm so sorry) and my irl griffin. 
> 
> i didn't want to list this as 'major character death' because it's not like that, but i am dead serious when i say if you are triggered by anything related to suicide, please please please hit the back arrow.

the thing is-

louis isn’t depressed.  he’s not moping about listening to whatever music you’re supposed to listen to when you’re depressed, tom waits or whatever, he’s just.   he’s not happy.  he’s not _not_ happy, either, which is what’s really bothering him.  he’s numb and can’t even be arsed to cringe at how “emo” it makes him sound.

one night when he was out with stan, he almost fell off a cliff.  like a scene from a film, he was standing too close to the edge and it started crumbling, and if he’d stood there a millisecond longer he would have gone sliding down the side with the dirt.

he felt something then.

the adrenaline kept him buzzed for hours.   so maybe he started doing it more often.   he left his ipod at home to savour the cars blaring their horns at him when he jay-walked.  he took shortcuts through dark alleys and waited as long as possible to hit the brakes when he was driving alone.

he likes that it was a train that got him, in the end.  bolting under the arms when a train was almost at the crossing, fascinated by how loud the engine was, and how he could feel the heat of it, and then- _oof_.

+

he doesn’t really know how to deal with guilt.   he lays awake at night, staring at his cracked ceiling, mind racing about all the people his accident must have affected, his family, his friends, the conductor.   he contemplates killing himself properly over it, taking all the fault into his own hands, but he’s too selfish to risk ending up in a dump worse than this.

+

he’s picking up wilted lettuce in the produce section, frowning, wondering if it’s edible.

“careful, your face may get stuck like that,” eleanor says, and louis looks up to smile in greeting, until he remembers he can’t smile because he’s dead.  his frown deepens because eleanor is not supposed to be dead. 

he says her name and she touches his arm and he winces, because the side of his body that made contact with the train is now a bit tender.  “i’m so glad i ran into you,” she says, and they end up back at louis’s with some bizarrely flavoured crisps and stale apple turnovers.

“where’s lottie, then?” eleanor asks, glancing around his apartment.  she whispers a soft “oh,” when louis stops dead in his tracks, blood rushing to his ears, confusion etched across his features.  “i’m so sorry, louis,” el’s saying, and louis feels like he’s going to be sick and he doesn’t know what he’s saying but she’s explaining that it’s not his fault, _everyone has their own demons, it was a few months after you, louis, it’s not your fault_.

+

he buys a car and whoever designed hell was american, so he almost dies again anyway just by leaving the lot.   there are no maps of hell and the headlights don’t fucking work, and he misses his bed and he doesn’t even know if he wants to find his sister, he could just convince himself that eleanor was lying.

but he quit his job and sold his flat so he doesn’t really have any other choice, now.

+

he picked up a hitchhiker once before, in life, hoping she was going to seduce and kill him.   part of the adrenaline thing, you know.

so he has no reason to stop for this hitchhiker, but he does anyway, because it’s hot as balls right now and the kid’s got a power rangers rucksack.

the kid leans down and ask “where are you going?” through the open window, in lieu of a greeting.  louis ignores a pang of homesickness as he registers the kid’s accent.

louis glances out the windscreen, and just says, ‘eastish,’ which the kid repeats, and there’s a beat.   then the door swings open and it’s a mess of impossibly long limbs until the kid is settled. 

“i’m harry styles,” he goes, and he’s chewing gum.

 louis replies with his own name and shoulder-checks for traffic that isn’t there.  “where are you going?”

“i’m looking for the people in charge,” harry answers.

“they’re american,” louis explains, motioning at the steering wheel.  “dunno why you wanna deal with them.”

“i’m not supposed to be here,” harry says simply, and louis raises an eyebrow at him, but harry doesn’t elaborate.

+

niall who drank himself to death is the first to drop something- a saran-wrapped sandwich- under the passenger seat.   “where the fuck,” he mutters, groping the floor.  he asks louis to pull over and is out of the car before the engine’s even cut, and he immediately sinks down to his knees on the gravel outside and presses his torso against the floor.  he’s practically frantic when he reaches his arm underneath to grope again, and the look on his face when he surfaces is one of pure devastation.

they stop at a diner, and louis can’t really blame niall for staring at the car warily and announcing, “nah, you lads go on without me.”

+

“how can you sing?” louis asks one day when it’s just the two of them driving, interrupting harry’s a capella screaming lord sutch concert.   harry think he’s funny and starts explaining something involving air and voiceboxes and louis cuts him off and says, “i can’t do it.  not here.”

“ian curtis quit the band via rope,” harry says.  “cobain, gunshot.” and louis gets it and they sing nick drake until their voices are hoarse.

+

“darn,” liam mutters, reaching for the sunglasses he’d just fumbled with.  apparently diving into the thames still doesn’t warrant unnecessary foul language.  (louis is beginning to become alarmed by the suicide rate of british males between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five.)  “don’t crash,” he warns louis and undoes his seatbelt to better reach under the seat.  after a moment he straightens, mutters “that’s weird,” and then actually slides the seatbelt back across himself.  “can’t find them.”

liam’s the first passenger they pick up who actually has a destination.  “i’m visiting my grand aunt,” but he’s staying at a hotel and louis buys him a new pair of sunglasses despite his protests, because louis is concerned that his car is eating people’s belongings and he really doesn’t need to deal with any more guilt.

+

harry and louis opt to camp out that night.  they’re laying on opposite sides of the fire, and harry breaks the silence with “what’s your favourite constellation?”

“dunno,” louis says.  “orion, i guess.”  the belt was always easiest to point out to his sisters, at least.

harry huffs.  “mine’s cassiopeia,” and louis doesn’t miss that harry’s talking in present tense, despite the fact they sky above them is pitch black. 

+

it’s zayn who makes it official.  “i can’t find my other shoe,” he announces, scowling at the single nike in his hands.  “the fuck did it go,” he asks, reaching under the seat to feel for it again.

“forget it, mate,” harry says, gripping zayn’s shoulder from the back seat.  “it’s gone.”

later, zayn hisses “this is disgusting,” as he walks on his socked tiptoes through the bar they've stopped at.  louis apologizes and zayn just shakes his head and declares the only penance is for louis to buy all the rounds that night.

louis, now tipsy, is about to challenge harry to a round of pool when a girl with purple hair not quite long enough to hide the rope burns on her neck slides into the empty seat beside zayn.  “listen, my friends and i have this game,” she starts, and then she’s asking them how they “did it,” and louis feels like that should be considered rude.

“left the car i didn’t know how to drive running in the garage,” zayn supplies, and her already wide eyes go even bigger when they fall on him.  harry and louis cease to exist and zayn doesn’t even grab his stuff from their car when he leaves with her.

after a few more drinks, harry decides to ask the bartender about the people in charge.   he’s got a bullet hole in his forehead and is less than impressed with harry’s question.  “the people in charge?  tell me, when you were alive, did you ever go looking for god?”

“no,” harry replies, “but i found him once in a lightning strike.   that’s enough faith for me,” and later that night louis lies awake wondering what it would feel like to be struck by lightning.  he wonders what kind of afterlife he’d get if a force of nature had killed him, and chalks up the tightness in his chest to the idea that then his sister would be here alone. 

+

“louis!” harry cries, and louis slams on the brakes and swerves, only just missing the figure laying in the middle of the road.

harry’s the brave one to shake the guy awake, who acts like nothing is out of the ordinary and introduces himself as nick grimshaw. “i’m looking for my dog,” he explains **.** “he’s been kidnapped.”

“you mean dognapped,” harry replies, and nick smirks.  

the car’s wrecked so they stay with nick at his proper motel.  there’s a sign out front that reads _grimmy not grimey!!!_   nick claims that there’s only one room available so harry and louis have to share and harry actually puts his clothes in the drawers, like he’s planning on staying longer than it’s going to take matt (who popped the pilot light on his stove) to fix the car.   louis gives matt two weeks until he’s out of here to find his sister, and doesn’t care if harry stays longer, he doesn’t.  

+

nick’s always surrounded by a gaggle of people, aimee who walked into traffic, laura-may who took too many pills, henry who slit his wrists.   harry’s absorbed into their clique almost immediately and louis doesn’t care, because he’s just here to find his sister.

louis doesn’t care that he’s alone at the quarry- a quarry, of all places, who the fuck took this much stone and where did they put it- and he’s not throwing rocks into the pool and he’s not snarling, not imitating nick’s drawl in a high-pitched voice, not constantly checking over his shoulder because the side of this body that made contact with the train doesn’t feel vulnerable without harry standing beside it, it doesn’t and he’s not, okay?  okay.

it’s only been a week, and louis decides matt’s time is up.  he’s going to find his sister tomorrow, because who the fuck is harry styles. 

+

“so, i’m just gonna head out,” louis says the next morning, picking up his rucksack.  “matt said i could just take his car."

harry had been folded up in a chair, limbs crossing over each other at impossible angles and he stood up at louis’s words, immediately breaking into an almost-frantic “what? why? louis, what?”

“i need to find my sister,” louis says.

“i need to find the p.i.c.,” harry counters. 

“you’re not trying very hard,” louis bites, motioning around the room.  harry had recently arranged some half-dead flowers in a vase on top of the telly.

“don’t leave,” harry says, reaching out for louis, who backs up.

“i don’t even know you,” he says because he doesn’t, because they’re dead.

“come for a walk with me,” harry says, and louis sighs and is almost able to say no, to go find his sister, but harry’s holding his arm out so louis sighs again and takes harry’s hand because he’d feel rude taking matt’s car, anyway.

+

there’s a beach that’s littered with used condoms and needles and it’s fucking disgusting and louis doesn’t really pay attention to what they’re talking about, it’s fucking freezing, but then harry stills and takes louis’s hand and says “i’ve stopped looking because of you,” and louis doesn’t think about what he meant, just asks “why were you looking in the first place?”

-

harry was out for a night on the town, had no idea where he was, only vaguely knew the people he was with, and he’d done heroin before, whatever, but it was shit heroin and he did too much and he didn’t want to die, fuck no, he loved his life, _fuck this shit_.

+

louis doesn’t leave.

+

nick throws their door open at some ungodly hour and announces, too-loud, “i’m going to find my dog, you’re coming with,” and louis tells him to piss off but harry wants to go.

they hike for hours, and louis wants to resent harry because he could be with this sister right now rather than this asshole who keeps flirting with harry, but he doesn’t.

they finally crest a hill and discover a huge group of people gathered around a small castle, and nick narrows his eyes and mutters “fucking ed,” under his breath.

ed turns out to be a lunatic convinced he can move between life and death and will lead all these people with him.  nick bursts into the castle and demands an audience, and louis wishes he was literally anywhere else in any world as they listen to ed ramble on about how much happier thurston is now, though the dog looks completely unconcerned with the proceedings.   louis catches a blonde head poke her head into the room they’re in and he’s calling out his sister’s name before he can catch himself, and he’s running over to her, wrapping her in a hug as she squeals his name (almost like she’s excited.)

she breaks away from him and mutters, “i’ll be right back” before she rushes over to ed and whispers some things in his ear, before returning to louis and wrapping an arm around his waist and leading him outside.  “i’m so happy you found us,” and louis ignores how ill that statement makes him feel and basks in what joy he can squeeze out of seeing his little sister again.

“it wasn’t your fault, louis,” she explains without prompting.   “i just found ed, and it was the right thing for me to do,” and louis really does not like this ed fellow.  neither does nick, if his voice screaming _give me back my dog you fucker_ from the crowd is any indicator. 

“how is-“ louis starts, but it interrupted by a gong and lottie standing up.  “i have to go help him, we’ll catch up later,” she says, brushing her lips against his cheek and rushing away.  louis feels slightly gutted, and he wishes-

he wants-

he’s here to see his sister, damn it, who the fuck is harry styles.

+

he finds a seething nick in the crowd, watching ed standing on the roof.  they stand in silence for a moment, louis about to ask what they’re going to do about the dog, and nick just announces, all casual-like, “if you don’t tell him soon, so help me god.”

louis hums, questioning, and nick just shakes his head.

“tell him that you love him.”

“who,” louis asks, pretending his eyes didn’t immediately dart to where harry should be, beside him.  nick smirks.

ed’s shouting something, and lottie’s by his side, handing him an oversized knife which he then buries in his chest, and louis feels nauseous.  he turns to see how nick’s reacting but nick’s gone, and then there’s yelling and people in white jumpsuits shouting that they’re the people in charge, and louis’ heart leaps and wonders where harry is and he’s being pushed by the crowd and he meets harry’s eyes, and harry looks like he’s shouting something at him but lou can’t hear and he’s pushing and pushing but by the time he gets there, harry’s gone, nick’s gone, lottie’s gone. 

matt drives by hours later, tells louis his car’s all been fixed and doesn’t mention a thing about anything that just happened. 

+

lou’s just driving at this point, considers going back to where he started out, but he’s not sure where that is.   he doesn’t pick up hitchhickers.  he doesn’t sing.  he fumbles with a flask but it falls onto the floor of the passenger’s seat and he curses and reaches for it, praying it hasn’t slipped too far under the seat-

and then he’s falling.

+

when he wakes up, it feels like he’s been hit by a train. he guesses he says so, because he hears “that’s because you have been, dummy,” in a voice that shouldn’t be familiar, he’s never heard it before in his life-

“harry,” he croaks.

“hi,” harry huffs, sitting beside louis’s bed, hunched over and running a hand through louis’s hair. 

“fuckers,” goes nick, in scrubs.  “you owe me.”

“sod off,” harry says, not taking his eyes off louis.  voice low, harry prompts, “nick says you had something to tell me.”

louis just smiles.

//


End file.
